Elephant's Memory
by Channel D
Summary: It's the first undercover assignment that Tim is undertaking, and the stakes are high. Will he get the support he needs from his team? How is success measured? Written for the NFA Under McCover challenge. Four chapters plus epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

**Elephant's Memory**

**by channel D**

written for: the NFA Under McCover challenge. The object of the challenge was to send Tim undercover; something he's done little of on the show.  
rating: K plus  
_genre_: drama, suspense  
featuring: Tim! and the others…  
**_author's note_**: I received a fair amount of outrage for the events in this story, and the characters' reactions, when I posted this on the NFA. Just so you know, if you too are outraged, you're not alone. But I stand by what I have wrtten, because I do feel it is plausible, given how I see the characters.

**xoxoxoxoxo**

_disclaimer_: I own still nothing of NCIS, even as they start filming season 8 today.

**xoxoxoxoxo**

Chapter 1

**xoxoxoxoxo**

"Good luck, Probie."

Tim gulped. "Thanks." Gear in hand, he marched towards the elevator…and his first time at truly being someone else. Butterflies in his stomach launched themselves into the air.

"McGee." Gibbs' call stopped him, and just short of the elevator, he turned back to face his boss.

Gibbs searched his face for a long minute. Tim didn't meet his eyes, but trembled a little when Gibbs' hand raised his chin. "You ready for this, McGee?"

"Of course, boss," Tim said, falsely.

"You're not scared."

Tim didn't answer, but was sure that, despite his efforts, his face showed it.

"Tim, I can't have you going undercover if you're scared. Not only are you likely to flub the assignment, but you could get hurt."

"I—I'm sorry, boss. I'll try hard—"

"Don't worry about it. DiNozzo, take the gear. You'll have to be our undercover Ensign."

Tim swallowed hard, and shamefaced, handed Tony the gear. In truth, he was scared. Scared that he would be found out immediately, with no back-up close enough to save him from armed suspects. Scared he would lose his nerve.

Scared he would be killed.

It was one of the most humiliating moments in his short two years with NCIS. Tony left, and did the assignment well. Gibbs didn't say anything more to Tim about it, but neither did he ask him to go undercover again.

**xoxoxoxoxo**

"You're sure you're ready for this?" Tony asked Tim soberly.

What a time to have an elephant's memory. "Yeah, I'm sure." This time Tim met Tony's eyes, and didn't shake at all. Perhaps it was because this mission was more important than the last one, five years ago, had been.

" 'Cause I could go in your place…"

"No, you can't." Tim wasn't too surprised at how confident he sounded and felt. "You can't talk like a geek and pal around with nerds. You can understand wealth, but only from what you experienced as a boy."

"I don't want you having second thoughts…"

"I won't." Tim didn't have to look to feel Ziva's doubting eyes on him. She hadn't even been on the team at the time of his original failure. He'd never told her about it; it wasn't the sort of embarrassing moment that one could just laugh off, and admit: I was too chicken to do my first undercover assignment. Tony must have told her, dang him.

"McGee…I could…"

"No, Ziva. This one's mine." He punched the elevator call button. "We'll be in touch."

**xoxoxoxoxo**

"Hey, buddy."

The shopkeeper looked up as the man entered. He was skinnier than your average fan boy, but then some of them did run toward lean. Most quailed at the thought of any real exercise, if they were honest with themselves. "Afternoon, friend. Something I can show you?"

"Possibly." The man, 30-ish, slowly took in the shop, with all of its comic books, movie and TV posters and paperbacks, and toys. "I've heard you carry vintage '60s and '70s stuff, and earlier. I don't see any of that out here, though." He frowned.

The customer was nicely dressed, the shopkeeper noticed, and felt a little shabby in his plaid flannel shirt and worn jeans. This man definitely had money: the coat was Burberry, if he wasn't mistaken. The shoes were Italian leather. But any collector with that kind of dough could afford to be strung along for a bit. The shopkeeper shrugged. "Kids these days. They only want the latest thing. Vampire stuff, you know? And the new Spider-Man and Superman. I try to turn them onto classics, like Sandman and Heart of Africa, but they only want the cutting edge, not what their parents—or grandparents—read."

"Not interested in comic books," the customer said scornfully. "I want movie memorabilia."

"Like what? Maybe I've got it in the back." Despite his inclination to go slowly, the shopkeeper was becoming interested.

The customer looked aside, thoughtfully. "Are you Barnes? It was suggested that I ask for Barnes."

I'm not going to let Barnes get this commission, thought the shopkeeper. "No, I'm Patrician. The owner. Barnes works for me, but he's off today. I'm sure I can help you, Mister—"

"Mallory. Timothy Mallory. I appreciate the offer, Patrician, but I understand that your man Barnes has the Naval background and the in-depth knowledge of war films…"

"Oh. Well, he does know a bit more about that than I do, but—"

"When will he be back?"

A voice sounded in Tim's ear. Tony's voice. "Don't be too hard-to-get. What if he says Barnes is going to be out for two weeks?"

Patrician looked uncertain. "Tomorrow, maybe. Or day after? I don't know. He's been a little funny lately. But I can, maybe…"

"Well, okay," said Timothy Mallory. "I'll probably know what I want, on sight. And I should let you know that I can spot a fake a mile away."

Patrician smiled thinly. "Fortunately, all of our merchandise is much less than a mile away."

**xoxoxoxoxo**

After the shopkeeper had summoned a junior clerk to mind the store, Patrician led Tim into the back room. There, under dim lights, were shelves of the rare, more expensive merchandise, which were only brought out to the shop on an individual basis.

"So, you're a long-time collector?" Patrician asked, conversationally. "A Navy man?"

Tim nodded. "On leave. But I guess you'd call me a movie buff. A geek. I've bought and sold a lot of stuff online, but I've also been burned there. So when I can, I prefer to deal in person."

"The Navy must pay you pretty well. You're an officer?"

"And a gentleman," Tony cackled in Tim's ear. "Play up your geek side. Gain his confidence."

"Well, I guess I think of myself as a fan first," Tim said, side-stepping the wealth question. "You know how it is. A job is a job, but being a fan—that's with you 24/7." He raised his hand in a Vulcan salute.

Patrician laughed. "My brother always said you weren't a true geek if you didn't grok Star Trek. Do you speak any Klingon?" he added, hopefully.

"A little, but I'm by no means fluent, so don't test me," Tim said, smoothly. He knew his limits, and knew he couldn't afford to be tripped up on a small point. It was time to get to the heart of things. "So, I'm interested in pre-1970 Navy-themed movie stuff."

"Replica boats? Posters? Games?"

"Yeah, all of that, and almost anything else. But I already have a lot of stuff, so I'm not much in the market for duplicates right now. The storage costs alone are painful, and right now, I'm not near my collection, so selling isn't desirable."

"I'll bet you have some prize stuff!"

Tim shrugged, modestly.

"Maybe we can look over your collection sometime. I could give you pointers, and maybe make an offer."

"He's taking the bait. Reel him in," said Tony.

Before Tim could say anything, Patrician was off on a tangent, so Tim wondered if he hadn't just been conversational with the offer. "You like TV Navy stuff? I've got McHale's Navy…

"No, not TV stuff. Just movies. It's a shame that Barnes isn't here. We talked a lot on the phone. He knows the John Wayne war and war-related movies that I like. Operation Pacific, They Were Expendable, The Fighting SeaBees, In Harm's Way…and sentimental favorites like Donovan's Reef. Oh, and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon."

"Yeah, good JW Navy movies, all of them," Patrician nodded.

In his ear, Tim could hear Tony's laughter, and call of "Good one, Probie!" The last movie, of course, had been a John Wayne Western; not a Navy film. Now that they knew that Patrician was weak in this area, Tim would be free to spin a tale if he needed to. Tim walked about the room, looking at the material on the shelves an in the glass-fronted cases, a cultivated slightly disdainful look on his face.

Patrician seemed to hesitate. "Barnes does have Navy and other military stuff in another storage room…but it's his, not the shop's. I don't know that I can sell it without his say-so…"

"Couldn't I just see it? I don't have to make an offer today," said Tim. "I won't be in town past Friday."

"I suppose just a look would be all right," said Patrician. "It's down in the cellar."

"Whoa, Probie! You might be walking into a cell phone dead zone! Don't do it!"

Tim ignored that, deciding he would take his chances. After all, he wasn't going to be buying anything today…just looking for the stolen merchandise. "Lead the way."

**xoxoxoxoxo**

If the lighting in the street-level storage room was bad, the lighting on the stairs down to the cellar was much worse. It was a cold, though not damp, place, and after passing by one landing and a closed door, the stairs went down even further…down to about the depth of a Metro platform, Tim reasoned, and tried to remember where the nearest line ran. At the bottom there was a little more light from bare bulbs in safety nets, though of a ghostly blue tone, like fluorescents imperfectly made. There was a long corridor going left, right, and straight. "This way," said Patrician, turning to the right.

"You own all of this?" Tim said in amazement. "That's impressive, for the SW part of the District!"

"Well, as you can see, I don't spend much on the upkeep," Patrician laughed. Indeed, the corridor was dusty and dingy, and looked like rodents might have been along it. The walls were unadorned. Here and there a closed iron door was seen in a wall. "Here we go…"

Tim had been listening for sage advice, or a warning, or a laugh, from Tony, but…nothing. He probably was in a dead zone now, though Tim didn't have a way to test that.

"This is Barnes' storage room," said Patrician, as he stopped before a door that, like the others, was unmarked. From a large keychain, he turned a key in the lock, opened the door, and switched on the single-bulb light.

No! This was not at all what they had expected.

"What the hell is this?" Tim said, his voice rising. He genuinely felt as frightened as he knew his voice sounded. "Who is this guy? Why is he here?"

In the corner, squinting at the light, sat a man with dried blood on his face and his shirt; even some in his hair. His wrists and ankles were bound. Silently, the man glared at the two of them.

From somewhere, Patrician had acquired a gun. "He came snooping around after Barnes. Now you're snooping after Barnes. And you thought you knew your John Wayne movies. Either you were trying to trick me, or you're not as clever as you thought. Now get down on your knees; hand behind your head."

Tim didn't dare pull his eyes anywhere. He feared the well-deserved reprimand of flubbing his second chance at going undercover. Sorry, boss, he thought silently in Gibbs' direction.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**xoxoxoxoxo**

"McGee! _McGee!"_ Tony shook his headphone, blaming it for the lack of response.

"He is probably in a dead zone. I am certain we will hear from him soon," said Ziva.

"Oh, yeah? Do you think they call it a 'dead zone' for fun, Zee-vah?" Tony raged. "It's called that because people who wandered off the grid wound up _dead!_ Like McGee might."

"I think you are exaggerating," Ziva sighed. "He is simply, momentarily, out of radio range. We will hear from him again shortly."

"And if we don't?"

"Then…we will have to come up with a back-up plan. Which we should have had in the first place."

**xoxoxoxoxo**

"I don't know who you think you are," Tim raged at Patrician, "much less who you think _I_ am."

"I suspected that Barnes was eating into my profits," the shop owner snarled. "Selling off my stuff along with his, and not giving me a cut. Now, I intend to get to the bottom of this and get my merchandise back."

"Well _I_ don't have any of it," Tim said, waving his hands. "I haven't even met the guy, much less bought anything from him. I don't know about this poor fellow here," he gestured towards Gibbs without looking at him, "but as an officer in the United States Navy, I demand that you do the right thing and release this man immediately. A civilian is not authorized to imprison others; that falls to the local authorities." At the moment Tim was very glad to not have Tony blaring in his ear while he talked; it was easier to make up things out of whole cloth if he could put himself into his father's shoes. Not that Dad had ever gone into a comic book shop; no, it was the Navy officer _bearing_ that Tim tried to copy.

Patrician looked confused, momentarily. "You haven't exchanged money with Barnes yet?"

"Didn't I just say that?"

"Well…Well, I can't let you go. Now that you've seen this." Patrician gestured to take in the entire cell."

"Seen what? I still don't understand any of this."

"I, um…look; I've got this guy tied up! This guy who was snooping around for a deal with Barnes!"

"And that's a crime? Snooping around, I mean. As for tying him up…" _Thanks, Dad, for your gift of gab._

Patrician threw his hands up. "Barnes is trying to steal from me! What am I supposed to do; let him?"

"File a police report. Sue him. But don't take the law into your own hands, man!"

Slowly the shopkeeper lowered his gun. "You're right. I don't know what I was thinking. Just because Barnes is selling you two merchandise doesn't make you bad."

_Well, except we could be charged with receiving stolen merchandise, _Tim only said, "You're making the right decision. Now, free this gentleman and we'll forget this unpleasantness ever happened."

"You won't press charges? Really?"

Tim earnestly hoped Gibbs would go along. _You've been through a lot worse, boss. Be a sport._ It would take a strong man to overlook the beating Gibbs had obviously gone through, but Tim was confident…well, Tim was sort of confident…that Gibbs would tolerate this and ream him in private later, if he wanted to.

"Just set us free," Gibbs spat, and Tim repressed his sigh of relief.

Patrician undid the ropes holding Gibbs, and Tim helped him get to his feet. "Lean on me if you need to, friend," Tim said to Gibbs. "I don't know how long you were tied up there, but you don't look too steady on your pins."

"Thanks," Gibbs muttered, his voice raspy.

It seemed surreal, this easy getaway. Tim forced himself to stay in control, though. "Lead us out, Patrician," Tim commanded. "I'll see that this man gets a cab home." In truth, he was a little afraid of what Gibbs would look like in bright sunlight, with his bloody clothes.

"Yeah. Sure," Patrician said, now appearing unnerved. He led them back to the stairs, and Tim was glad to see Gibbs take them without much difficulty.

At the shop's entrance, Patrician had final words. "You won't do business with Barnes, either of you, will you?"

"Sir, an officer does not trade with criminals," Tim said stiffly.

"Well, good. Thanks. I have a feeling he might not be back, but if he does come back…" Patrician slammed his fist into his other hand.

_We'll know to look in the cells under your property,_ Tim thought grimly, but he only nodded.

**xoxoxoxoxo**

The weather had changed from sunshine to dark clouds, and rain appeared imminent. Tim moved down the street with Gibbs, who remained dour and silent. Then Tim remembered that he was electronically connected. "Tony? You there?"

"_McGoofus! We were about to send the National Guard in after you! Where are you?"_

"A block away from the shop, on Lutz Street. I've got Gibbs." The last sentence carried a bit of proud, breathy excitement.

"_You have…that's fantastic! Well done, Tim!"_

Tim grinned. Tony was obviously amazed, but he did sound proud of him. Tim's first undercover assignment had been a success!

"_Give us the street number and we'll swing by to get you."_

"1804. We're standing in front of the _Dos Hermanos_ French restaurant."

"_Okay. We'll be right there."_

Within minutes, they were, and as the rain suddenly came down in buckets, Ziva jumped out to let Gibbs take a seat up front in the unmarked van.

"Good to see you again, boss," Tony said cheerfully. He waited until everyone had seatbelts on before he pulled back out into traffic.

Tim, meanwhile, was still aglow in success of his mission…a glow that he felt would probably last for days. Gibbs had disappeared three days before after a simple, lone, call at another of the small chain of shops owned by Patrician, looking for the Barnes character, while the rest of the team was tracking leads elsewhere. When Gibbs vanished into the legendary thin air, NCIS went on alert, and more than a dozen agents were trying to find him. It had been Tim's idea to go undercover at Patrician's main store, and his hunch had paid off. _I'll probably get a commendation for this…_

Gibbs turned to Tim, who sat in the back seat, and his eyes were fiery. "What the hell was that?" he demanded. "If one of you had to come after me, under cover, why couldn't you have let it be DiNozzo? _He_ knows how to do it!"

Tony pulled the car up short at a light turning red. Gibbs' team was stunned to silence by Gibbs' odd comment.

Ziva was the first to find her voice. "Gibbs, you have been missing and I assume, confined, for three days. You need rest, and then you will see…"

"Forget it," Tim sighed, and thrust open his door, even as Tony put his foot on the gas as the light turned green. Tony stepped on the brake again, and the driver behind him honked his displeasure. "I'm out of here." Tim stepped out and slammed the door.

"Probie! Where are you going?"

"I'll see you back at NCIS," Tim called back, aware that he was standing in the middle of a busy road in the pouring rain. Cars were still honking. Tim waved at Tony to drive on, and Tony, looking sad and surprised, did so.

Tim crossed the road, hands in the pockets of his trench coat, the rain running off his head. It mirrored his feelings. He thought the mission had gone well. But somehow, he'd missed something and screwed up. Once more, Gibbs had shown that he thought Tim couldn't handle undercover work.

He walked on, past the nearest Metro stop, while all the tears in Washington fell on him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**

* * *

**

Was it ever possible to read clues of the almighty Gibbs? Or was he a text that was unknowable to mere mortal agents?

_I didn't do anything wrong,_ Tim told himself as he walked along in the downpour. _Gibbs has a screw loose somewhere. He's not acting like himself. _

_This was my first real time undercover, and I did _great_! I not only located Gibbs, but got him out, without even having to draw my gun. So, what is his problem? _

_And why does he have the power to make me feel like a five-year-old?_

**

* * *

**

Steady walking brought him to the next Metro station, and he went in. Tim prided himself on being _sensible,_ and walking all the way back to the Navy Yard in this weather was not sensible.

In fact, from the Navy Yard Metro station, he would have taken a taxi to the Yard, but there were none in sight. Sighing, he ran across the street to the CVS store and there purchased an umbrella. Solid black, manly, and matching his dour mood. The rain did not let up in the half-mile walk to NCIS.

He was still wet, of course, when he arrived at the squad room. Ziva mostly hid a smile at his state, and only said, "Did you walk the entire way, McGee?"

"Maybe I should have." Tim took off his wet coat and hung it up, then went to the break room and got a bottle of water from the vending machine. _Water._ The irony was not lost on him. "Where are Tony and, uh, Gibbs?" he asked on his return. "Gibbs go home?"

She rolled her eyes. "Gibbs, go home, when there are still hours left in the work day? Just because he was held captive and beaten for three days?" When Tim didn't laugh, she continued. "He is in the Director's office. Tony is there, too. " A pause. "I was not invited."

"The Director's office? With Tony? Why? I mean, why Tony?"

"I do not know."

"They must be talking about getting Gibbs back."

"I assume so."

"But _I_ was the one who got Gibbs out!"

"Yes. But you were not with us when we came back. You…let loose your temper, and decided to walk."

_So that's it. I got Gibbs out and blew my stack, and now Gibbs is telling Vance that I don't have the temperament to go undercover._

As if reading his thoughts, Ziva said, kindly, "McGee, I do not blame you for getting angry with Gibbs. You did your best…"

"But it wasn't enough, was it? It'll never be enough for him." Tim logged on to his computer and caught up with the day's agency email. Then he stared at Ziva, as a thought occurred to him. "Patrician! Hasn't anyone arrested him? I couldn't do it without blowing my cover, but…I mean, he held Gibbs hostage, and roughed him up! And we…_you_…just let him go!"

Ziva frowned. "I think another team is working on that. Our concern was to get Gibbs back here, since he refused to go to a hospital."

"But we're still no closer to finding the Navy's stolen historical artifacts," Tim argued. He tapped on his computer. "Assuming Patrician is just a slightly corrupt businessman, I think Barnes is who we're looking for." The search responded to his request. "Ah, this is more like it. Barnes has used his cell phone three times this afternoon. All within the city limits. Right now he's at…right off the National Mall. I'm going to catch up with him." He grabbed his wet trench coat.

"Wait, McGee—"

"Don't try to stop me, Ziva. Despite what Gibbs might think, I really do know what I'm doing."

"I was not going to stop you. I am coming with you."

"Oh….Okay. Grab your umbrella, it's still raining."

Ziva scribbled a note for Gibbs, and they were off.

**

* * *

**

They sat in the unmarked van, in the rain, parked on one of the streets near the Mall, while Tim checked Barnes' cell phone location on one of the van's computers. Tim sighed. "He's at the Air and Space Museum. At least that's not far away."

"That is out of our jurisdiction, no? Shall I call the Army CID?" She then gave Tim's arm a playful punch. "The look on your face! I was joking, McGee. Let us go after him."

"It's _my_ screw-up, Ziva. I'm going alone."

"No. If Gibbs has not read his note yet, if he is still in the meeting, then no one knows we are out here. One person is not sufficient back-up. I am going with you."

Tim winced. He knew better than to phone Gibbs, if Gibbs was still in a meeting. Gibbs never shut off his phone, and Tim would be sure to get an earful from him. If Gibbs had come out of the meeting, he would likely have phoned him or Ziva by now.

To top it off, Tony must still be in the meeting as well. He was enough of a snoop to troll their desks if he discovered Tim and Ziva weren't there. He'd read the note left for Gibbs and call them to give a teasing warning.

"All right then, come."

**

* * *

**

"You can probably get a discounted admission, you know, as a member of the military," Ziva said with a saucy smile as they stood in line to get into the museum.

"There's no admission charge for the Smithsonian museums, and I don't want to tell any more lies than I have to," Tim hissed back. "Do you remember what Barnes looks like?"

"Yes…about 5' 8", 180 pounds, dark hair, brown eyes, ruddy complexion. This is a large place to be searching for someone, McGee."

Secretly, Tim thought the same. He changed the subject. "We know that he likes ship models…I assume he's branching out to airplane models, too."

"Attempting to steal from a well-guarded museum during open hours is foolish."

"So…he'll hide out and attempt a theft when the museum has closed. Except that during the summer, like now, it's open until 7:30, and it's just 5 o'clock. He'll have a long wait."

"No, it closes today at 5:30 due to a museum event tonight," Ziva said, with a knowing shake of her head and another smile. "What? I like this museum. I am on their email list."

**

* * *

**

They weren't about to get into trouble by hiding out in the museum without the authorities' knowledge and consent. NCIS hated being involved in after-the-fact squabbles. "What is the event here tonight?" Tim asked Ziva as they made their way to the security office.

"I do not remember. There are several functions, every month. It could be a dinner for an elite group, or a party for children…There; I see the office."

The head of security, a sober-looking woman named Hannah Solas, was cooperative, if dubious. "We regularly eject people who hide in the restrooms or behind exhibits. My staff knows all of the hiding places. We haven't had a successful hider in a couple of years."

"We would appreciate it if you would let us patrol, nonetheless," said Tim. "We've been after this suspect for over a week."

"You have my blessing," said Solas. "Although, honestly, it's not usually NCIS we get involved with here," she chucked. "It's the Army CID. You know. Army? Air Force? Air and Space?"

"We like to be versatile," Ziva smiled back.

"What is the special event tonight that's closing the museum early?" asked Tim.

"Oh, now isn't that funny? It's a dinner hosted by your Chief of Naval Operations."

Tim looked at Ziva. "How could you forget something like that?" She only shrugged.

**

* * *

**

Solas had provided them with temporary guards' badges so they could freely roam the halls. They stationed themselves near the exit to see if Barnes was departing with the other museum visitors, but he was not seen.

Tim was a little dejected. "What if he went out while we were on our way to Solas' office? We should have gone in with the whole team. We needed more eyes."

"No plan is foolproof, McGee. We did the right thing." Ziva watched as the last of the lingering tourists left the museum. There was another wait of about twenty minutes before a guard nearby beckoned to them and said that the call on his radio said all the usual hiding spots had been checked, and no one had been found.

"Thanks," said Tim. "Now we'll do our own check."

"Suit yourselves," the guard said, looking skeptical. "Hey…you CID guys hiring?"

"We are," said Ziva, who had a ton of smiles this day. "Go to our website: www dot cid dot getaclue dot mil."

"I'll do that! Thanks!"

Tim looked at Ziva as the guard scurried off. "You are too dangerous to be running around loose."

"I try, McGee. I try."

**

* * *

**

There was nothing amiss on the first floor. On the second floor, they headed for the galleries of war aviation. Before they got there, however, in gallery #207 ("Exploring the planets"), they found a guard, unconscious on the floor, minus his guard's shirt and badge.

"Barnes did this. He must have," said Ziva.

"So he's impersonating a guard. The perfect disguise. You call for help for this guard. I'm going after Barnes."

"But McGee! If he sees your badge and is armed…"

He yanked off his badge. "You can turn this back in. I can still work undercover. Maybe Barnes and I can work out a deal—one collector to another."

"McGee!" Ziva hissed, even though that sounded loud to her in the empty gallery. But Tim had already gone._._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

Tim walked as quietly as possible through the galleries; his footsteps sounding loud in his ears nonetheless. Barnes, if he heard him, would likely think he was another security guard…and that caused him to regret having abandoned his badge. Still, maybe he could turn this to his advantage.

Ziva's cell phone vibrated. She put it close to her ear. "Tony! Where are you?" she hissed.

"_Where I'm supposed to be! Where are _you?"

"Right where I said I would be."

"_Well, isn't _that_ specific?"_

"I can do without the snark, Tony. McGee is much better company than you are."

"_Is McUnderwear there with you?"_

"Not at the moment…he is pursuing Barnes. I am attending to a security guard who was knocked out."

"_He's gone off alone?"_

"Yes, he said he wanted to complete his undercover assignment by himself."

"_Did he, now? Well, well, well…"_

* * *

Cautiously, Tim peered into the entrance to gallery #205, at the far southwest end of the museum, which housed WWII aircraft. From a mural on the far wall, a squadron of B17 "flying fortresses" seemed to come right at him. If there were small models here…and Tim had never explored the museum thoroughly, to his regret…they would probably be irresistible to Barnes.

The lights were dimmed a bit to save energy in nighttime. Around 9 p.m. the cleaning crew would come through, and at midnight, the lights would be reduced even more. Tim hoped they wouldn't be here anywhere near that late, for the day had been unbearably long already. _How many hours ago did I confront Patrician and discover Gibbs…?_

His hand near his firearm, Tim eased into the gallery, which appeared to be devoid of all but the exhibits—a Zero, a Spitfire, a P-51 Mustang, and other planes; cases of ammunition, uniforms, and—

Tim suddenly saw movement near the uniforms displays. Of course! Something fairly easy to smuggle out (try doing that with a real airplane!). _Think, Tim! What are you going to say to him?_

Momentarily, Tim was afraid for his life. He blinked, and calmed himself by hoping the person would turn out to be with the cleaning crew. Yes, that would be funny. Afraid of someone who was armed with a mop and a pail. _Stop, or I'll mop!_

But then Tim got a glimpse of the man. It was Barnes, without a doubt. He was about to cut the sensors around the uniforms exhibits. _Act, Tim! You wanted to go undercover. You told Gibbs you could act, and bluff your way through any situation._

_You said you were creative. You said you had a mind full of actions that could fit any scenario. You had confidence in yourself, and you wanted him to see that. You wanted to do this to fulfill missing ksa's (__k__nowledge, __s__kills and __a__bilities) in your job performance. You wanted to be a solid all-around field agent, promotion material some day. _

_You wanted to prove to everyone that you could do it, and carry the assignment all the way through._

_So, act!_

"Hey!" he called out. It was the first idea that came into his head, and probably wasn't the best one, but he didn't have the luxury of being able to stop and make choices. He had to trust his instincts.

Barnes looked around, and froze.

Tim remembered that he was wearing a nice suit, and that gave him and idea. "You here for the CNO's dinner, too? My name's Mallory. Timothy Mallory, Lieutenant. Assigned to the USS _Kennedy_." (_Dang. I hope he doesn't realize that the_ Kennedy_ is thousands of miles away right now._)

Then he realized his mistake. Barnes wore the guard's shirt, and had on black trousers that would go unnoticed by someone only giving him a casual glance. "I beg your pardon, sir. I didn't realize you worked here. Some of us asked, and were given permission to explore…are you repairing that exhibit?"

"Uh, yes…yes! I'm putting the coat back on the mannequin. It had fallen off somehow." He lifted the jacket that was in his hands.

"Isn't that usually a job for the curator?"

"I help out. You know? The curators, they're overworked. The Smithsonian needs to hire more, but they won't. It's not in the budget."

"I see," Tim smiled.

"You're Navy."

"Yes, sir."

"You into collecting?"

Tim saw the gleam in his eyes, and had no doubt that Barnes had remembered his name. Barnes had been careful not to give his own name, but was probably thinking of an opportunity.

"If it's war memorabilia, then I'm your man. I favor Navy stuff, but any service war things will do; I can always trade Army or Air Force things."

"Well, friend; how would you like to make a little money?"

"How do you figure?"

"I know people who would pay really good money for this complete uniform…serious collectors. I, uh, have a spare with me, professionally made. We can put it on the mannequin and the switch probably won't be discovered for a long time."

"What do you want me to do?" Tim asked warily.

"I have to get out the main door. All the other exits will be alarmed at this hour. I need you to provide a diversion so someone in a guard's uniform can get out."

"Why don't you just wait until your shift is over?"

"I'm too nervous. I don't want to be around here any longer than is necessary."

_That's for sure. That real guard won't stay unconscious for long._ "So what's in it for me?"

Barnes smiled. "A cut of the proceeds. You just give me your card, friend, and I'll get in touch with you." Barnes stuffed the uniform into a small duffel bag.

"I don't think so," said Tim, reaching for his gun. "Federal agent. You're under arrest."

But Barnes moved faster than Tim had thought, and had his gun out before Tim did. Slowly, Tim raised his hands in surrender, mentally kicking himself—hard. Willingness was not enough. Undercover assignments were hard, and dangerous. They didn't always succeed. Sometimes agents died.

"_Hold it right there!"_

Tim was stunned by the familiar voice that came from behind him. He didn't turn around.

Barnes, though, broke into a grin, and lowered his gun. "How did I do, Gibbs?"

"Not bad, Boynton. Not bad." Gibbs strolled forward, into Tim's peripheral vision. Ziva and Tony were with him.

Gibbs put a hand on Tim's shoulder. "Breathe, McGee, before you turn blue," he chuckled.

* * *

"You set me up?" Tim asked incredulously. He followed it with a statement. "You set me up!"

The van pulled into Navy Yard. "Yes, McGee, you were set up," Ziva responded for the third time, still smiling.

"And you passed. With flying colors, mostly," said Gibbs. "You'll do better next time."

"But, I don't understand…"

Tony had beaten them back to NCIS, driving his own car. "Congratulations, McSpook!" He even applauded, gathering curious looks from other NCIS workers. Gibbs' team was a little hard to figure out sometimes.

"Can you please _explain_ to me…"

"You wanted an undercover assignment. Badly. Unfortunately, we thought that might be how it would go for you. Badly," said Gibbs. "So, the Director and I came up with this idea, and brought DiNozzo and David in on it."

"Gibbs was never kidnapped," said Tony. "He spent all of his time in a nice hotel, until you closed in on Patrician's location. Then we got him tied up and had a little make-up applied to simulate bruises."

"Nice hotel," Gibbs grunted. "Found a boat-building channel on the cable TV."

"We let you do most of the detective work in finding him," Tony continued. You found Patrician's location, you didn't let us talk you out of—"

"Wait, wait! Back up the bus!" Tim cried, still in shock. "Patrician isn't really a—"

"A crook? A comic book shop owner? No, Patrician is his brother-in-law's name. That's who really owns the shop. You met Grant Smith, an agent out of the CRFO office. In town, visiting family."

"But…there was no case?"

"Nope."

"No stolen Navy artifacts?"

"None."

"Gibbs was never kidnapped?"

"It was all a ruse, McGee," said Ziva. "To test how you would do undercover."

At the crestfallen look on Tim's face, Tony said, calmly, "Look, Probie. I don't blame you for being a little mad. But you have to earn your stripes to be considered for a job like this. We really weren't sure you could carry it off, so it was decided to give you a test."

"Did I pass?" Tim asked, shakily, fearing the answer.

"Not at first," said Tony. "Well, you were good at getting Tim out, but then you kind of goofed in just letting Patrician go—"

"Yeah, I did," Tim admitted, feeling his face turning red.

"—which is why Gibbs blew up at you. He wasn't going to come right out and say it, but—"

"—You were _so close,_ McGee!" Gibbs interrupted. "So _damn_ close! And you blew it! You let your relief at 'rescuing' me cloud your judgment. You should have gotten me out, and then arrested 'Patrician'."

"Sorry," Tim mumbled, before remembering that that was an expression Gibbs didn't like to hear.

Gibbs ignored it. "Vance then wanted to call the whole thing off. Not everyone is good at undercover. There's no shame in it."

_Yeah, but that's not exactly a career-builder._

"But I knew you wanted it so badly you could taste it. That's the kind of spirit that makes a really good agent. When you stormed away, I could tell it was because you expected perfection. I don't expect that, but I like my people to try for it."

"So the boss and I went to Vance to plead your case for you," said Tony. "Vance really had his mind made up. We had to argue and argue."

"And before they went to Vance's office, they told me that if you came back and decided, on your own, to fix your mistakes, then I was to let you do that. Encourage you, if that seemed right," said Ziva.

"You insisted on coming with me," Tim grumped. "Is that 'encouragement'?"

"You still had not passed the test, McGee. Going without back-up, even for an experienced undercover agent, is not a wise idea."

"McGee, you tanked big time on your first chance to go undercover, remember? You didn't have the guts back then," Tony added.

"This isn't, and can't be, about what _you_ want, McGee," said Gibbs. "Our job is to get the work done. We have to utilize people who have the necessary skills."

"I know boss," Tim sighed. "So, Barnes—he's not really Barnes, either?"

"Carl Boynton, newly assigned to the Pentagon office. A little theatre actor in his spare time. The security guard was in on it, too; pretending to be knocked out. So was the head of security."

"I don't think the CNO knew…that was just a nice little coincidence," said Tony.

Tim paced, lost in thought for a moment. "Well…did I pass? You said I passed, right?"

Gibbs smirked. "You get points off for letting 'Barnes' get the drop on you. But other than that, you thought on your fee, and accomplished the job by yourself. Good job." He shook Tim's hand.

Tim laughed in surprise. "I passed." He then whooped. "I passed! _I passed!"_

"Yeah, well, come down out of the clouds, McActor. We have another undercover assignment coming up, and you'll fit the bill."

"Oh, really?" Tim asked, while Gibbs looked quizzical.

"Yeah. It's as a quality tester in a potato chip factory."

"Tony…"

"Don't like that? Well, there's talk of another assignment, that one of us might have to dress up as a call girl, and Ziva has already turned that down…"

"Tony…!"

"You're around your dog a lot. Think you can impersonate a German shepard?"

"I'm going home. Good night!"

"Good night, McCover!" Tony and Ziva chorused, and Gibbs only grinned.


	5. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

It was after 10 o'clock when Tim arrived home, weary beyond belief. He fed the dog and gave him fresh water, and then flopped down on his bed, still fully dressed, even still wearing his trench coat and shoes.

"Am I wrong, Jethro? Wrong to expect a little respect, after seven years on the team?"

From the kitchen, Jethro only _whuffed_ in reply and returned to eating.

Tim grinned a little, wondering why he would have expected any more of an answer from a dog.

_What a day!_ Conflicting emotions ran through him. Some delight at the congratulations from his team; a lot or mortification for thinking he was on a real case when it was all a sham.

Yes, maybe they did need to test his abilities. Everyone remembered how nervous he'd been on his first opportunity, five years ago.

But did it have to be this elaborate a test?

Tim thought. Gibbs was "missing" for three days before Tim "rescued" him. In that time, Fornell didn't contact NCIS asking where his friend was. Well, maybe Fornell was busy…

Tim has assumed that only Vance and the team knew that Gibbs had disappeared. It wasn't practical to have every NCIS employee out looking for the boss in their spare minutes, after all. They wouldn't want some couch potato file clerk finding him and showing up the MCRT. But _Abby_ didn't question Gibbs' absence, either. She hadn't said one word about it, Tim now realized.

Nor had Ducky, or even Jimmy…

_My God; they_ all_ knew! Every one of them._

_I feel like such an idiot…_

He got up and went to his computer, opening his email program. _Should I request sick leave? Mental health time?...Give my resignation?_

The last one would certainly allow him to save face. He could start over in a new job, maybe in a new city, where only whoever hired him would have to know…

_Gah!_ He closed down the computer and tore at his hair, then pushing the books that were on his computer table onto the floor, fiercely.

_I don't want to quit. I don't want to leave NCIS. I want to do my job. I want to go undercover when I'm needed for it._

With unsteady hands, he got a cold bottle of water from the refrigerator, and took several long gulps of it. He could feel it calming him.

_Yes, I had to take a test. And that was a little humiliating, but I can understand why they did it. I probably wouldn't have had a lot of confidence in me, either, in their place._

_But I succeeded. I wasn't perfect at it, but I seem to have done good enough for my first time. I passed. I'll do even better the next time._

_It was important enough—I was important enough—to make them invest a lot in the planning and operation of this. That must mean something._

He sat back down at his computer chair, and Jethro settled at his feet.

_I'll go back to work tomorrow and show them that it was no big deal to me. That I can brush off a little humiliation and keep going. And maybe someday I'll find out how Tony's first undercover assignment went._

-END-


End file.
